Big Bad Wolf
by Elodie Grimmesey
Summary: King County has a supernatural problem. Sheriff Dawn Lerner chose Deputy Rick Grimes and Deputy Shane Walsh to make up the secret supernatural hunting department of King County's Sheriff Department. A missing redneck, a vicious werewolf and a ghost problem all haunt the small Georgia town and it's up to the best friends to deal with it.
1. Chapter 1

**_Big Bad Wolf_**

* * *

 _Thursday, July 26,_ _1 day until the full moon_

King County had always been an odd town. The decades-old unsolved murders, weird stories about creatures in the woods and an old haunted mansion on the edge of town that was supposed to be haunted. Rick Grimes didn't believe in ghosts. Neither had Shane Walsh until he took a girl out to that old mansion and ended up in the hospital with a broken arm. Afterward, when the football team's coach and Rick asked what had happened, Shane swore blind that he'd been thrown down those grand old stairs by a woman in white. In hindsight, Rick wished he'd believed Shane because now they were watching the corpse of that same woman in white burn in her unmarked grave.

"Man, that is some good revenge for my damn arm. I missed the rest of the football season cause of this bitch," Shane was smirking, but Rick knew his brother well enough to see the horror in his eyes at the smell of old, burning flesh. They'd salt and burnt the body just like Lerner said.

"I can't understand how no one knows about this," Rick stepped away from the burning grave, a hole in the dirt at the crossroads outside of town. The woman had been wealthy, very wealthy, until her husband left her for a more fertile woman and she was destitute. Snuck into her old home and used her husband's rifle to shoot herself in the head at the top of the stairs - which explained why she'd pushed Shane in a tumble down them - and back in 1823, they still buried suicides in unmarked graves. Rick felt more sympathy for the vicious ghost than he should have.

"You're preachin' to the choir," Shane ran a hand through his black curls, "Whole town here, whole damn Sheriff's Department, and Lerner chose us to revive the age-old secret ghost hunting tradition. Sixty years the King County Sheriff has known about this, and what, Lerner decides that now's the time ta bring it back, that don't seem odd to you?"

"It ain't just ghosts that we gotta worry about," Rick started shoveling dirt over the dying flames, "Like she said, past few months there's been a werewolf out there killin' people. Our job is finding it and killing it 'fore the deaths get national attention."

"And how are we meant ta kill a werewolf? You better believe that if I hadn't seen this bitch's ghost back in the day then I woulda told Dawn to shove it up her ass," Shane grabbed his own shovel, sweating beside Rick to fill in the hole before daybreak. No one could see them doing this. Strict orders from Dawn.

"We study the books and we use the old weapons," Rick paused in his digging to meet Shane's eyes, "I have that vacation to Atlanta this weekend to visit Lori's parents tomorrow. I need you not to run around hunting creatures we know nothing about this weekend while I'm gone."

"I'll try, man," Shane flexed his muscles and grinned, "Who says I ain't the lumberjack goin' to take down the big bad wolf on my own, huh?"

"You're a dumbass," Rick laughed, "I'm going to spend the entire weekend looking around corners for _vampires."_

"I keep thinkin' bout every time we ever went out for a night in Atlanta and wonderin' how we didn' stumble into none of those vampire clubs that Dawn was talking about. Man, it gives me the chills."

* * *

 _Tuesday, July 31,_ _26 days until the full moon_

"Daryl Dixon is a good man. I won't have you accusing him of something we can't prove," Rick paused outside the door with Shane, "No one died on the full moon last weekend or went missing that we know of. Daryl hunts in these woods regularly - he could have seen something."

"Or done the killing himself," Shane muttered under his breath as Rick knocked on the door. There was no answer.

"Or he's dead," there was concern in the older man's voice as he knocked again, louder.

"Let's go and have a gander then, huh?" Shane dropped off the two steps of the tiny wooden porch in one leap, striding around to the back of the cabin with a furious stride. Rick followed him, pinching the bridge of his nose. There weren't many people that Rick wanted to die, but he knew that if there were, Daryl Dixon was on the other end of the spectrum. Ed Peletier, Merle Dixon, they were men he'd rather find dead than anyone else in the town, even if he was opposed to death anyway.

"You see anything?" Shane was peering through the small dusty window of the back door, his face wrinkled in disgust.

"Looks like Merle's been in town. The place stinks of whiskey, smoke, and pot," Shane recoiled, and though Rick couldn't smell anything from where he was he believed Shane. They'd yet to arrest Merle for possession, though he had been arrested over in Mert County and imprisoned a few years back.

"You can't see Daryl inside?" Rick scanned the woods around them, nervous about the werewolf's victim. Daryl Dixon wasn't likely to be reported missing in quick time - the only person who gave a shit was his employer at the garage Dale Horvath and the man was currently in New York trying to get his wife better care for her cancer. Irma was dying and they could all see it but Dale, even she could.

"Nawh man, ain't no one been here in a few days," Shane backed off of the porch, "Could be him this time."

"How can you be sure?"

"Dust, old food, he ain't been back here in a while," Shane massaged the back of his neck as he moved before Rick, "We should see if he ain't stayin' in the garage."

"Dale closed the garage until he gets back," Rick dropped into a crouch and groaned into his hands. The first time he'd met Daryl Dixon, the man had been busted up from a brawl outside Abraham's. The bar was full of men worse than Daryl, and when Daryl told Rick how the guy he'd fought had been pinning some barely legal girl up to a wall, he'd gotten back in the car and called in a false 911.

"Nawh man, Daryl was supposed to be opening it up if Dale was gone for more'n two weeks. Shirley came to me ta' fix her car over the weekend, said the garage was openin' on Monday but she jus' couldn' wait that long."

"You just fix her car?" Rick stood, a little relieved, and let the smile cover his face. He was happy with Lori, always had been, and despite their arguments, her pregnancy had brought them back together, but he never managed to tire of Shane's stories, even if he did wish that his brother would grow up so that they could complain about their wives _together_.

"I didn' feel so good, so I jus' fixed her car. Tits on her though - damn shame I wasn't up for it," Shane walked beside Rick back to the squad car. Rick furrowed his brows as they got back into the car.

"Ain't like you not to be up for it. This supernatural stuff messing with your head?" Rick knew that, no matter how much he downplayed things, Shane struggled with a lot. Rick was the only one who'd seen Shane cry when they were eight and his daddy left them, and he was the only one who'd seen Shane cry after they responded to a call and found his momma's body floating in Queen's Lake, her suicide note taped to the fridge door at home. Shane didn't ever become okay with it; he just pushed it down and moved on. One of these days, he'd get Shane to speak to the therapist at the station.

"I'm good," Shane nodded to the steering wheel before Rick, "We're burnin' daylight here, I wanna find this asshole 'fore the next full moon."

* * *

The gas station that Dale Horvath owned was right in the middle of town, next to the convenience store that the Rhee's owned. Rick knew almost everyone in this town, on account of his job, and he made it a habit to ask Maggie Rhee about her family's farm whenever he could. Now that he knew about what lurked in the dark, he wondered how safe that old farm really was. The wolf could easily head on out there, as could anything else, from vampires to wendigos to ghosts... _christ._

"There's no one here, man," Shane strolled back from the locked doors and meeting Rick in the middle of the small parking lot, "We should head on over the road, see if anyone at Abrahams has seen him."

"It's our best bet," the officers walked in step with one another as they crossed the busy main road, Rick having to stop Shane from walking out in front of cars twice. These last few days he'd been antsy, ready to pounce at any moment because the pair of them knew now that the world hid much more sinister dangers than normal run-of-the-mill criminals.

"First forty-eight hours, man. Chances are, Dixon's long dead, and ain't no one gonna miss him," Shane said, and Rick shook his head. The noise of town was loud in comparison to the woods around Daryl's cabin.

"No, no, chances are that he's just holed up somewhere. I refuse to believe that this we- that this wolf got another person."

"I think it's already too late for that," Shane looked away and ran his hand through his hair with a fervourous movement, "You ever think we're gonna get ourselves in trouble, doin' stupid shit just to try an' avoid some stranger's death?"

"That's why we do what we do, ain't it? To save people," Rick paused outside the doors of the bar, "I thought you were with me on that."

"'course I am, man. Savin' people, that's what we do. We just try an' ignore the cost, don't we?"

Rick clapped his brother on the shoulder, "I'd lay my life down for you, man. C'mon, we got a missin' person to find."

"Whatever you say, Rick," Shane gave him the ghost of a smile and followed Rick into the bar. Inside, the air stank of beer and old wood. The room was fairly empty, considering it was 11 am on a Tuesday, holding on one man in the corner, slumped over onto a table, and a ginger-haired man behind the bar.

"Well suck my nuts, two deputies just walked into my bar," the owner of the bar, Abraham, laughed his squared-off beard shaking, "Only ones who come in here are corrupt or fired, so which is it?"

"Actually, we're looking for Daryl Dixon," Rick said, strolling up to the bar with Shane, "You seen him?"

"Daryl's out - camping - has been since last Wednesday. You wanna let me know what you want my man for?" Abraham placed two cold bottles of beer on the counter, "On the house, for your service."

"You've heard about the wolf attacks," Rick said, "I gotta drive."

"I don't," Shane took a seat at the barstool, grasping his cold beer, and Rick might have slapped him for drinking on duty if he didn't know Shane was better at speaking to people like this, "We're thinkin' that the wolves might have gotten Daryl an' we're jus' makin' sure we ain't overreactin' 'fore we have those woods searched for him. You heard from him? We ain't gonna throw him in the cells for illegal huntin', we already know 'bout that an' I don't care, we jus' wanna make sure he ain't dead."

Abraham looked about for a moment before yelling, "Sasha!"

A woman came out of the back, her frizzy hair pinned back into a fashioned ponytail, and a piece of what looked like break lights hanging from a silver chain around her neck, "Hi officers."

"You seen Daryl, baby?"

"He's hunting, ain't he?" Sasha looked between the two officers and paused, realizing her mistake, so Rick flashed her his nicest smile.

"We're just worried about him, darlin'," Shane offered, raising one hand in surrender when Abraham narrowed his gaze, "Sorry man, I was jus' bein' polite."

"Daryl said he'd be back before Monday," Sasha said, looking between the three men, "He might be hurt, Abe, we gotta look for him."

"No," Rick snapped before he could stop himself. They couldn't have people running around the woods, even with twenty-six days, not including that day, until the full moon, "It's dangerous out there. We'll set up a search and we'll let you know, just let us collect some contact information, alright?"

* * *

"Look, we know that it's been mostly hunter's dyin' so far, man," Shane took a large bite of his cheeseburger, the two men sat in the parked squad car in the dark parking lot outside of Dale's gas station, waiting for a man that had in all likelihood been torn apart by a werewolf. Rick still couldn't get his mind around it - supernatural creatures, living amongst humanity, all this time.

"I met Daryl that night you were with your Grandma Jean in hospital," Rick ate one of his fries - Shane had swapped Rick's burger for his fries because he was reallt craving meat and Rick wasn't sure he could keep anything too heavy down, "Protected a woman from some sleazebag. He seemed like a good man."

"Good men die, Rick, it's what happens," Shane hung his head to the side, staring out of the window in silence. When Shane was thinking too hard you could see the storm in his eyes, and Rick was about to scold him for thinking too loud when his phone starting buzzing, that annoying 'Baby Shark' song that Carl liked more than he should have for a fourteen-year-old boy. He'd said something about 'memes' before changing the tone on Rick's phone.

"Man, don't, I just got that damn song outta my head," Shane complained as Rick pressed answer, putting the phone to his ear.

"Hey Lori, what's wrong?" they'd been doing well recently, and the affection showed in Rick's voice.

"Do you remember when Carl was young, and he used to say he saw the ghost of a guy in a - in a red suit, the one he said lived here before us?"

"Lori, what happened?" Rick could hear the tears in his wife's voice, and the mention of a ghost had him on overdrive. Could the creatures _know_ that he was fighting them now?

"He's - he's outside, Rick. He's staring through the window but no one else can see 'im, not even Carl. I'm so scared, Rick."

Rick's blood went to ice in his veins and he turned to Shane, who somehow had already managed to hear the conversation because he was grabbing the salt and holy water from the glove box as Rick put the car into drive. Shane barely managed to pop out the side of the window to dump their trash. His brother grabbed the phone as Rick drove, putting it to his own ear.

"Lori, listen to me, I need you to make a circle of salt on the floor and stand inside of it with Carl," Shane let out a frustrated growl, "I don't care that it sounds stupid, you do it and you do it now, you hear me? We're comin'."

* * *

 **A/N: Woah, I actually really enjoyed writing this - and after seeing the trailer for episode 5... I AM SO EXCITED I LOVE JON BERNTHAL SO MUCH AND I CAN NOT CONTAIN MY SQUEALS OF JOY (anyone else plz it can't just be me that needs more Jon as Shane in my life)... and thus, I am posting this as a random chapter of a thing I kept daydreaming about during my exams. I think it'd be fun to write more but what do y'all think?**

 **Happy Halloween! Remember, it's the night the dead are closest to the living ;) spooky scary**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Big Bad Wolf**_

* * *

"Oh shit, man, go," Shane yelled, banging his fist against the passenger window as Rick skidded the squad car to a stop. Through the drawn curtains, Rick's living room light was flickering. The two men slammed the doors as they got out of the car, Shane half-sliding over the hood of the car to reach the sidewalk faster.

"Lori," Rick cried, sprinting up the path to his door, fumbling with the keys. Inside, there was a short scream, and the lights went out. Rick swung the door open hard enough to make it bounce against the wall with a crash. The hallway was cloaked in shadow but otherwise looked untouched, bar the frost slowly crawling up the glass of the front door window. Rick's breath fogged up in the doorway and Shane stopped him with an arm in the air.

"Here, man," Shane pushed a tub of the salt into Rick's hand before both men pulled out their flashlights and moved in, the beams of light dancing around the short hallway.

"Dad?" Carl cried, and Rick didn't think twice before running from Shane to stumble into the dark living room. His flashlight landed on Lori and Carl, clutching each other in the middle of the room, and when Rick moved the flashlight down he saw the circle of salt around them was surrounded by glass on the floor. Rick's face reflected in the shards of smashed mirror. It must have smashed it to hurt them - how would he explain this to them?

"Are you okay?" Rick stepped into the circle, pulling his wife close, and noticed the small wound at the top of her forehead that was currently trickling blood. He kissed it, "Where did it go?"

"I... I don't know," Lori cried into Rick's chest. Rick reached around his wife to pull Carl close, checking the young teen for wounds.

A loud crash echoed through the hall, accompanied by a loud grunt. Rick jumped back from the circle, "Shane - Lori, Carl, get outside, lets go!"

He pushed his flashlight into her hand and skidded around the doorway to find his brother. The front door was hanging open - part of the wood cracked - and Shane was at the bottom of the concrete porch steps on his back, unmoving.

"Lori, Carl, come on," he waited for them to pass him, the tub of salt clutched in his grip and the flashlight in the other, and stayed behind them as they rushed out of the house, "Go and get in the car, go!"

He shoved the keys into Lori's hand and dropped down beside Shane where he lay backward on the concrete steps. There was a trickle of blood on the back of his neck, and Shane groaned as Rick pulled him upright.

Movement in the doorway caught his eye. It looked like a man with slicked-back brown hair and an eyepatch in a red suit. It was coming towards them, a shard of mirror in one ethereal hand. Rick launched salt from the tub, and the ghost hissed out a screech that hurt Rick's eardrums before disappearing into mist. The glass clattered on the floor.

"Shit, man," Shane lurched to his feet, and Rick pulled him with him, pushing Shane towards the passenger door before running back around the car. As he did, he paused at a flash of red in the upstairs bedroom window, "Sumbitch launched me out."

He didn't want to, but Rick ran back up the steps and pulled the front door shut, locking it, before sprinting back to the car. The neighbor's lights were still off, which Rick was thankful for, before dropping back into the car and starting the engine.

* * *

Shane's house was smaller than Rick's on account of his lack of family but it was big enough to have a spare room for Rick, Lori, and Carl to share. Carl hadn't complained about sharing the bed with his mother or about being sent upstairs after everything and that was how Rick knew the fourteen-year-old was more affected than he liked to admit.

"Rick, how did you know?" Rick was crouched at Lori's feet as she sat on the couch. He'd cleaned up her head best as he could, thank god it was just a scratch, and now Lori picked at the square plaster on her hairline. She'd asked why they didn't just go to the hospital for her and Shane twice now, and Rick wasn't sure he had a foolproof excuse for her not to go if she got it into her head that she had a concussion.

"Shane knows all this stuff about ghosts, because of what happened out at the old Monroe place back in high school," he lied, feeling his gut twist with the guilt. This was his wife.

"Rick, it tried ta kill your son an' me," Lori pulled her hands from his grasp, "You can't just lie to us. We aren't safe. I thought I was seeing things until it smashed the mirror and threw a piece at me."

"Me an' Shane are gonna sort this out, but I need you to stay calm and quiet," Rick's head hung down as he crouched before his wife, trying to find the words, "It must be some psycho playing tricks."

"My husband isn't stupid enough to abandon a missing person's case for his wife's silly fears about ghosts. The moment I said the word ghost you came running," Lori looked away, "You are my husband and you're keepin' things from me."

"Lori-"

"Sometimes I wonder if you even care about us at all," Lori spat. The words stung Rick to his core.

"I came runnin', didn't I? Put my job and life on the life to come back over a ghost,"

"That's why I'm worried," Lori met his eyes, hers bloodshot and welled up with tears, "Maybe we shouldn't have put Evie on those meds."

Rick winced at the name. Lori's sister had believed in the supernatural all her life. When she started seeing things, she was diagnosed with a host of mental health issues and that was that. She was given pills and shipped off to self-help sessions with no further thought. Her treatment was why Lori's parents had moved to Atlanta in the first place.

"Lori, don't talk like that."

"At first I thought I was loosin' it just like her but it's all real, isn't it? It's all real and you knew the entire time that I was calling my sister _crazy,"_ Lori pulled her knee away from Rick had his hands resting on it, and Rick leaned back onto his heels, hands clasped, as she shifted away on the couch, "How can we raise two children in a world like this?"

"That might be a ghost or not Lori but it doesn't change that Evie, she's not well mentally and you know that. You're overreacting-"

"Our home has a murderous ghost in it, Rick, don't patronize me! You can't tell me that it wasn't real."

Rick took a deep breath and stood from his crouch, "Lori, I love you, an' I need you to understand that I don't have the answers. I wish I did but I don't."

"I'm going to call Evie," Lori stood to face off against Rick, fishing in her pockets.

Rick put a hand on his wife's cheek, nudging her to meet his blue eyes, "They are still delusions an' you'll hurt more'n help. You said yourself that she's gettin' a little better recently. You think she'd be gettin' better if what she's seein' is real?"

"I want the truth in the morning Rick, I'm done with you playin' around with our feelings. You keep everything from me. Doesn't it mean anything that I'm your wife?" Lori rubbed at the tear tracks on her cheeks. Rick pinched the bridge of his nose. He loved Lori and he told her everything, except this, but she found fault in everything he did. Sometimes, the deputy wondered if their baby would grow up with separated parents.

Lori stormed from the room, a huff coming from her throat as she pounded up the stairs, and Shane took that moment to slip out of the downstairs bathrrom. Knowing the man, he'd been waiting for their domestic to end.

"Now that is why I ain't married," Shane smirked. He dropped himself onto the couch and sprawled out, giving Rick a short glimpse of the gauze taped to the back of his head. Shane noticed Rick looking, "It ain't so bad. I start showin' signs of a concussion, you tell my dumb ass to get on to the hospital."

He absentmindedly tugged on his black curls with the hand resting on the arm of the chair, picking up the remote with the other. Rick perched on the edge of the couch beside Shane.

"I'm gonna lose my family," Rick only half paid attention to 'Family Guy' on the TV, "Every fight we've gotten through, an' Sheriff Lerner has to go and give her the perfect reason to leave me and take my kids away."

"You ain't gonna lose your kids, man, you know we all got your back even if it goes ta court," Shane clapped Rick's shoulder, "I'lll even give Dawn an ass-whoopin' for ya, how's that?"

"I appreciate that, brother." Rick slid his iPhone from his pocket and unlocked it, opening safari up and typing in his home address. Shane kept one arm sprawled across the back of the sofa as he leaned closer to watch Rick google the history of his home. It took them a while, Shane eventually pulling out his own phone to google with Rick. Neither of them wanted to go upstairs and face Lori to receive Shane's laptop, leaving them with the phones to get the job done.

"Phillip Blake lived there. He was hanged back in 1969 for murdering his deceased daughter's doctor," Rick passed his phone over to Shane, allowing him to read the short Wikipedia page.

"You reckon it's him? S'pose we should be thankful he has a Wikipedia page instead'a havin' to search through those musty ass library books again," Shane scrolled down on the page, clicking on another link, "Looks like our ghost's descendants via his nephew are still in town - Tara Chambler. She might know where he's buried."

"I know her - she works part-time for the Rhee's," Rick couldn't imagine the kind and yet brash self-proclaimed gay having anything to do with a psychotic ghost. When gay marriage had been legalized a few years back, Rick had to wait a good ten minutes for Tara to stop dancing around telling him.

"Tell you what, tomorrow you go an' speak to Tara Chambler and I'll go'on lookin' for Merle Dixon over in Mert County, see if we can't get some confirmation on Daryl's whereabouts," Anger clouded over Shane's eyes and he set his jaw, "If it's Daryl, I'mma kill him, that son of a bitch."

"He isn't," Rick's face twitched. Daryl was a hunter who lived out in the remote woods alone and was currently missing - the signs pointed to him, but Rick didn't think so. Daryl was more likely to be a victim or a witness to the creature.

Rick noticed, now that Shane wasn't in his uniform, that he was lacking his normal '22' necklace, "You ain't taken that necklace off in years, man."

Shane looked down, forlorn, "One of the links snapped. I got it with Eugene for repairs but he's pretty so it'll be a few days. Feels weird without it there, man."

"How many years ago was it that I gave you that?" Shane started counting on his fingers as Rick attempted to work out just how long it had been since they'd left high-school.

"Eighteen years, man," Shane laughed, "We are old as hell, huh? Thirty-Six years old."

"You need to get movin' 'fore every woman in King County is taken, man."

"Lotta married women ain't so faithful," Shane smirked, "Joyce down at the diner, she appreciates a real man when she ain't at home with her geriatric husband. Woman makes callin' me a pig hot, you better believe it."

"You remember Ashley Johnson from highschool?" Rick was momentarily distracted a spray of fake red blood on the TV, "The one who tried to sleep with us both, even though I was with Lori?"

"Shit, yeah. The girl was a lover of men chasin' after her," Shane plumped the pillow behind himself on the couch, decorative ones that he'd gotten to appease Patty Taylor back in the days she'd had a key, "Man, you ain't had a woman other than Lori for fifteen years. How do you even manage?"

"We love each other," Rick said, but his smile fell as he struggled to buy into his own words.

* * *

 _Wednesday, August 1st, 25 days until the full moon_

"Hi, Tara," Rick smiled as he ducked into the store. Maggie and Glenn were nowhere to be found but Tara was manning the till, "You mind if I speak to you for a minute?"

"What's up, Sheriff?" Tara hopped up onto the counter and swung her legs over it, swinging them back and forth.

"I've told you, I'm just a Sheriff's Deputy. Sheriff Lerner is-"

"I know, I know, but you look the part with your hat," Tara grinned, "So what can I help you with?"

"You know about your relation to a Philip Blake?"

"No one really talks about it. My dad always says he was a great uncle who was full of grief," Tara adjusted her low black ponytail, "Why the local history, Sheriff?"

"I heard that he used to live in my house, an' it's where he was when they arrested him," Rick moved to the rack of comics and magazines beside the till. He knew it was at Glenn's insistence that they stocked the comics, and Rick grabbed the first edition of The Aftermath comic to 28 Days Later. They'd had some great father-son time watching the film, discussing how they'd survive a zombie apocalypse, and he thought his son might appreciate the comic to get his mind off of it.

As Rick was paying, wondering how to breach the conversation of the gravesite, the door to the shop jingled. Rick turned to see an old man in a fishing hat slipping through, dark circles under his eyes.

"Dale, you're back," Rick smiled, giving the man a firm handshake, "How did it go?"

"She might be okay," Dale looked away from Rick's eyes, "I don't suppose you've seen Mr. Dixon around, have you, officer? The garage wasn't open."

The man seemed dazed like he might have been in shock.

"My partner is speaking to his brother today," Rick said, trying not to give too much away, "We'll let you know, Dale."

"I need to get some meat," Dale mumbled, slipping past Rick to the fridges. Rick frowned and turned back to Tara.

"You wouldn't happen to know where they buried him, would you?" he blurted out, taking the comic in its small plastic bag from her, "My wife's gotten a real interest in the history of our home. I think it's the pregnancy hormones."

"I think he was buried over in the main cemetery. By the crematorium. I've never been, just heard what my sister said," Tara nodded, passing Rick his receipt, and he smiled, thanked her, giving Dale a forlorn look before ducking from the store, pulling out his phone to call Shane.

He picked up on the third ring, "Hey man, bad news."

"Merle?" Rick dropped into the squad car. It wasn't theirs; Dawn had handed over the keys to her own after a lot of persuasion, entrusting only Rick with it.

"Left town a week ago. Someone said he was headin' down here for Daryl. Chances are, both of 'em left the state already 'cause of some trouble. I wouldn't put it past the Dixons."

"At least they aren't dead, far as we know," Rick started up the engine, "I found out where Blake's grave might be. We have to deal with this, keep Lori and Carl safe, first. I don't care what Dawn says, we got a month 'til we have a problem."

"I'll head back. We'll deal with this eye-patched bastard tonight an' get questionin' people tomorrow," Shane's voice cracked through, and Rick put the phone on speaker as he started driving, heading back to the station.

"I'll meet you at the station," Rick called over the sound of the car, "I'mma check over the old records."

"Bye, man," Shane's voice crackled through before Rick reached over to hit the end call button, focusing on the road as he drove through King County.

* * *

Rick was sat at his small desk, protectively hunched over the odd documents, when the young blonde strode in. He'd been too focused on the article about Werewolves on his computer to notice her until she was right before him, tapping her cowboy-booted foot and wringing her hands.

"Officer Grimes," her voice was melodic, and Rick quickly closed down his tab and flipped the folder closed before speaking to her.

"Can I help you, Miss Greene?" Beth Greene was Hershel Greene's youngest daughter, going on twenty-two and King County's best singer. She'd decided not to go to college to sing in coffee shops and bars, and unknown to her father but known to everyone else, she released videos of her own songs on Youtube that got a few thousand views. Carl loved them, and Rick had sometimes wondered if he had a crush on the blonde.

"I- is everythin' I tell you confidential?" Beth kept her voice low as to not draw the attention of anyone else in the office, "I'm sorry, the Sheriff told me to speak to you, but my daddy can't know."

"So long as you haven't committed a crime, I don't see why he would have to. Do you wanna come into here with me?" Rick stood from his desk and gestured to the door of the interrogation room. It would give them privacy, and since Dawn had sent Beth to him, he figured this was something for off-book.

Inside, Beth looked warily at the mirrored wall before sitting down in the metal seat. Rick sat down opposite her, trying to be as welcoming as possible, "What's the problem, Miss Greene?"

"You can call me Beth," she was still fiddling with her bracelet so Rick stayed quiet and gave her time to speak, "I - well, Daryl Dixon, I think he's gone missin'."

Rick raised an eyebrow. No wonder Dawn had sent her to him, "My partner was actually lookin' for his brother today. I need you to tell me if you've seen Daryl anywhere, Beth."

"Oh," Beth kept her eyes on her boots as she continued, "I was with him, at his cabin, an' his brother turned up, shoutin' an' throwin' things. That was on Friday. When it started getting dark, Daryl gave me a ride back to my apartment. That was the last time I saw him."

So Merle had been in town. It looked likely that Shane was right - they'd left the area and probably had no plans of coming back, "There's a high chance right now that Daryl left town with his brother, especially with what you've just told me."

"Daryl wouldn't. He doesn't want to go back to the life he was livin' with his brother. Somethin's wrong. He'd say goodbye if he was leavin'."

Beth was serious. Daryl and Beth had been up to _something_ together, despite her being twelve years his junior. Rick supposed he couldn't judge - Beth seemed to really care, and he knew Daryl wasn't a bad guy, but he'd heard enough of the rumours about old Will Dixon to worry for Beth all the same.

"I'll make sure we keep on lookin' into this. Dale Horvath just got back into town so I'll see if he can get in contact with him, being his employer and all," Rick removed his hat, placing it on the table between them, "Beth, if there's anythin' else you need help with, or anythin' else you wanna tell me-"

"I know what y'all think about Dixon's but Daryl Dixon is a good man. He's a great man," Beth stood, "That's all, but please don't tell my daddy. If you need anythin', give me a call."

"I will do, thank you, Beth," Rick held the door open for her, and the blonde slid out of the room and out of the station as Rick moved back to his desk, noticing the head of black curls currently lay on the opposite desk. Rick sat down and leaned forward to bang the table next to Shane, causing him to reel upwards into his chair.

"Were you actually sleepin'? I was in there for less than five minutes and you turned up and fell asleep?"

"Needed a lil' nap, man," Shane rubbed at his eyes, "Why'd Dawn have you speakin' to Taylor Swift over there?"

"We can still get fired, ya know," Rick lowered his voice, "Seems like she and Daryl had a relationship. Merle did come into town on Friday, and she hasn't seen Daryl since."

"That creepy ol'-"

"She seemed happy, I don't think he's anythin' like his father from what I can see," Rick leaned forward, past his computer monitor, to lowly say to Shane, "We gotta go prepare for later."

"I'll let Dawn know," Shane lurched to his feet and Rick passed him Dawn's keys to hand back before packing up. They'd need to be careful if they wanted to avoid being seen. King County's cemetery was a big, open space, and often privy to teenagers hiding from their parents late at night.

* * *

 _Thursday, August 2nd, 24 days until the full moon_

It was nearly 3 am, late enough for the world to be empty of everything but the creatures that crept in the shadows, and the partners were still searching the graveyard. They'd been reluctant to split up, but by 2 am they'd decided that the ghost hadn't appeared and they were running out of night time.

Rick ran his flashlight over the closest graves, a black marble one with faded gold engraving drawing his attention. Philip Hammond. The date of death was 1971 though. Rick started along that row of graves, hoping the grave they needed might be nearby because of the similar year. He heard a quiet hiss, ' _liar'_ behind him - and crashed into a gravestone. Stone cracked under him, scraping his back.

"Shane," he yelled, grabbing for his revolver as the misty red figure came towards him. Rick scrambled to his feet, revolver in hand, and saw that it had disappeared. His flashlight was nowhere to be found, the battery dead from the ghost's presence, but he grabbed his shovel from where it lay discarded on the floor.

"Rick," the man heard the yell, and turned in a circle, trying to see where Shane was. The cemetery was dark but Rick saw the flickering light of a flashlight and sprinted through the graves. Nearly fell over a few. He saw Shane swinging the iron shovel at the ghost. It materialized behind him.

Rick opened his mouth to yell because he was too far but the spirit already had its hands around Shane's neck, choking him. Rick raised his revolver and shot. Shane dropped to his knees as it dematerialized. Special blessed iron rounds, courtesy of the last people in their profession.

"We don't have long," Rick sprinted over and crouched before Shane, the man rubbing at his neck, "It came outta nowhere and threw me."

"I found it," Shane's voice rasped, "Bastard probably wanted to knock ya out so he could get me."

Shane stood, grabbing his flickering flashlight from the ground, and pointed it to a tiny, plain block of stone simply engraved with 'Philip Blake. 1919-1969.'

Rick nodded and holstered his revolver, starting to dig at the ground, "Keep an eye out, man."

"Be faster if we both dig," Shane suggested, holding his iron shovel in one hand and his flickering flashlight in the other.

"Not if it kills one of us," Rick started digging faster, his breath coming hard, "I shouldn't have fired that shot. You should call Dawn so no one gets dispatched out here. She said she'd be up."

"Good call, man," Shane pulled out his phone, waiting for a few rings before putting it to his ear, "Rick fired off a shot. A ghost. Yeah it was necessary. Look- Dawn. Dawn?"

Rick paused in his digging, looking over at Shane, and saw the man staring at the dark screen of his phone.

"He's back," Shane hissed. Rick heard a whisper and spun, bringing the shovel straight through the head of the eye-patched man. He disappeared for a moment and Rick had an idea.

"Cover me, I'm gonna make a salt circle," Rick pulled the large tub from inside his coat, quickly moving to surround the grave and the space where the body had to be with salt. He heard Shane grunting as he spun with the shovel, but kept going. Glanced up to see Shane get thrown back. There was a loud crack, and the last of the light from Shane's flashlight went out. Glass sprayed over Rick. He closed his eyes and rose a hand as it scratched his face.

Rick turned and brought the weapon through the ghost.

"Fuck you, man," Shane growled, water spraying through the air. Philip let out a screech and disappeared and Rick got to work on the salt. Shane joined him, continuing until they met in the middle. The salt barrier wouldn't last forever, not when the blades of grass were going to force it apart if the ghost didn't try to.

"I have to get rid of him, Shane," Rick got to work quickly, "If he latches onto Lori or Carl and hurts them.."

"He won't, man, we're gonna deal with this," Shane joined him digging inside the circle, briefling looking over Rick's shoulder. He turned to see the figure waiting, stood between graves in the distance. Rick moved faster, sweat running down his chest as he worked to overturn the soil. He could feel blood trickling down the side of his face from the glass, but he didn't move to wipe it.

"You read that bit 'bout ghosts bein' attracted to children an' pregnant women, anythin' full of life like that?" Rick was aware that he was shaking as they worked. The ghost's arrival here proved that it wasn't tied to a location, and it was smart enough to attack Rick before it got Shane earlier - it would go for Lori and Carl again if it would save itself.

"Don't think about it, man," Shane was forceful with his digging, digging up more and moving faster than Rick could in his shaken state. He heard a hiss and turned back to swing his shovel as Philip tried to move through the circle. Rick stepped from the safe bounds of it. He swung again, stabbing it through its red-suited arm.

The shovels weren't pure iron. It came back quickly, shoving Rick from behind. He hit the grass and rolled onto his back. The eye-patched man grinned, leering at him, and reappeared on top of Rick. He felt ice around his throat. Couldn't breathe. Rick writhed, couldn't reach the shovel. He went for his pocket, for the salt tub.

He'd left it by the grave.

Rick saw blurry stars in his vision as he convulsed, hands blindly swinging at the ghost.

A shape blurred through it and it disappeared. Shane lifted Rick and hauled him the foot into the circle. Rick fell into the shallow grave and he lay there, choking out coughs, aware of Shane launching holy water at the constantly disappearing spirit. Rick heaved out of the grave, coated in fresh dirt, and grabbed his shovel from the ground just outide of the circle. He kept digging until the shovel thudded against wood.

"I'm at the coffin," Rick yelled to Shane, currently swinging his shovel wildly at the red-suited specter. Rick slammed the handle of the shovel down on the wood until it broke, the cheap plank coffin giving way, and screwed up his face at the scent of death. He could see the rotten, eye-patched face. He grimaced at the sour smell he was unleashing as he ripped at the wood, revealing enough of the body to pull the lighter fuel from his pocket. He poured it over the body.

Shane was on the ground, the ghost's hands around his neck. It started wailing some ungodly noise.

Rick grabbed his salt, pouring it over the body, and fumbled for the lighter. Shane had it. He lept from the circle, seeing Shane going blue, and ran at the ghost with the salt, launching it over the spirit. It disappeared, and Shane lurched to an upright position coughing.

Something hit Rick from behind and he went flying. It was coming straight back, desperate not to be banished.

"Burn it," Rick yelled, rolling over and scrambling backward on his hands and knees. Rick grinned as it came towards him, hand outstretched.

"Liar," the spirit screeched, turning from Rick to go after Shane as it realized. Rick leaped up with his shovel, seeing the flames rise from the body. Philip started screaming, and Rick's face fell as it rammed into Shane and launched him two graves down. The grave shattered under him, and the spirit grabbed a chunk of the rock, raising it in the air.

Without thinking, Rick pulled out his revolver and shot. The spirit dissipated, this time, for good, as Rick felt the heat from the flames on his face. The scent was disgusting.

"Shit," Shane let out a hoot, "He was a lot goddamn harder to deal with than that mansion ghost."

"You good, brother?" Rick leaned him a hand. Shane's denim jacket was torn but otherwise, he was fine. The grave cleanup was a whole other mess, though. They'd have to blame vandalism.

"Yeah, man, I-" Shane froze, his eyes going back and forth across the dark graveyard, searching for something Rick hadn't noticed, "Shit, what's that?"

Rick turned, saw the pale figure creeping towards them on its hands and knees. It had matted grey hair. It paused on the other side of the burning grave, cocking it's head back and forth, and Rick saw the pure black eyes and the fangs.

"Is that Irma Horvath?" Shane choked out, running a hand through his hair. It was, and she was a _vampire._ A hungry one, at that.

"She musta heard the noise, she seems rabid," Rick pulled out his revolver, knowing it wouldn't kill her but might slow her down. They had no weapons for this.

This would destroy Dale, whatever he'd done to save her had been well-intended but they couldn't allow this. She was sizing them up for a meal.

Rick aimed the revolver at the spindly figure but it blurred, and he was knocked down. Pain in his lower neck. Rick let out a guttural yell as Irma pinned him down, her fangs in his neck. Blood sprayed over him as Shane drove the iron shovel into her back. It came out between her ribs and the figure went momentarily limp. Rick clutched his neck as he stood, blood running through his fingers.

"Fuck, man, can that turn ya?" Shane pulled Rick's hand aside, but it was just a bite.

"I don't think so. Didn' give me 'er venom or whatever," Rick felt goosebumps run down his spine, though, because even though rationality meant he probably wasn't turning, he was scared. Maybe the turning bite affected you slower than Dawn said.

Irma hissed, ripping the shovel from her own back, and Rick backed up with Shane, reaching for a gun that wasn't in his empty holster. There was a quiet whistle, and a shard of wood protruded through Irma's chest before she went as still as stone and began to crumble. Cracks appeared in her bare skin, spreading, and a crunching sound came from her as she literally turned to ash.

"What the fuck?" Rick asked, scrambling on the floor for his revolver. A figure appeared from the darkness, wielding a crossbow loaded with a stake, silver weapons gleaming at his sides and stakes from his leather vest. He stared at them through the hanging curtain of dark hair.

Daryl Dixon slowly lowered his crossbow, "Don't y'all know nothin'? Gotta stake 'em in the heart."

* * *

 **A/N : I'll admit, I didn't edit this because I'm doing NaNoWriMo and also exams right now, but I've secretly been having more fun with this than the actual novel I'm supposed to be writing, oops. What do you guys think about Irma, and also the Governor coz why not, and Daryl's entrance? bam bam bam**

 **Thank you so much for reading this far, and let me know if there's anything I can do better 3 this is my first time writing an AU so I'm like aaaah**

 **P.S. Also, sorry to any Caryl fans, I personally shipped Bethyl and just didn't really see Caryl before Beth died, so this does have Bethyl in it but it's not a major focus and is only sort of prominent here because of Daryl being MIA.**


	3. Chapter 3

_Wednesday, August 1st, 25 days until the full moon_

Daryl started moving, carefully picking a gold ring from the pile of ash and clothes before chucking the clothes onto the still-burning fire.

"Man, you wanna explain why you turned up from bein' missin' to here?" The taller guy picked up his shovel, examining the blood that had hardened into black on the metal. Black hair, Deputy uniform hidden under a denim coat, nose more fucked up from fights than Merle's, that was Shane Walsh.

"Jus' got back from a job in Atlanta," Daryl eyed the burning grave and then them. He knew the rituals but he'd never expected these two to be the type, "Heard the shots, bet she did too. Guessin' y'all are jus' ghost hunters."

"So far," Grimes took a few steps forward, offering a handshake which Daryl ignored, "We need to talk. Especially now that you're a... you hunt supernatural creatures too?"

"Just bloodsuckers," Daryl kicked at the salt circle to clear it away, "Like every other Dixon 'fore me. 's in the blood. You two jus' gonna stand aroun' gawkin' or you gonna help me sort this shit out?"

Grimes nodded, grabbing his shovel and shoveling dirt onto the flames, "Poor Dale. Did you know?"

"Nawh," Daryl watched the way the Sheriff shook as he moved, "She got ya neck."

"Yeah."

"You feelin' funny?" Daryl clutched at his crossbow strap, eyeing the Deputy up. He seemed stable enough but Daryl had seen the change take hours. Knowing Rick didn't mean shit to him. He remembered the night that Grimes had played dirty cop for him but he hadn't asked for no one's help, least of all the help of a cop with a pretty family and a big ol' house.

"He's just fine," Asswipe growled out the words, staring at Daryl with narrowed eyes. He ran a hand through his curled black hair, "You know anythin' 'bout those wolf attacks, Dixon?"

"Was I speakin' to you?" Daryl spat. He'd heard about Shane from Merle a couple times, knew the guy was all too often down at Crystal's, getting a raging hard-on for some dancer. Daryl supposed that the guy had to be better'n Merle who too often would be moving his hand in his pants trying to get himself there.

"You're a missin' person and then all of a sudden you jus' turn on up here and stake Irma here, that right?" Shane was skeptical. His jaw muscles clenched as he stared at Daryl.

"Did a better job'n you," Daryl kicked at the ashes, sending a curtain of dust at the deputy's feet. It settled as a mottled print on his black pants which Shane curled his lip at before taking a step towards Daryl, chin tucked to his chest as he scowled at him.

"I think you oughta show some gratitude. We've been goin' around this town looking for your sorry ass all damn week. Where exactly you been this whole time?"

"Climb down outta my asshole," Daryl retrieved his stake, tucking it into the empty loop at his belt, "Reckon you ought ta be showin _me_ some gratitude. Ya were 'bout ta become chow for this undead bitch."

"We just need to know where you've been. Beth came-"

" _Beth?"_ Daryl felt his heart pause for a moment, was scared that they'd tell her daddy and he'd lose her. Daryl felt like a massive asshole that he didn't know, knew that that was just what nice southern girls who hung around with trash that didn't deserve them had to do, "The hell you sayin'?"

"Beth Greene, she told us you were missing," Rick continued, "We're investigating something private - You must already know. A werewolf around here, killing people. Could have been you dead out there."

"Well it ain't," Daryl rolled his shoulders, kicking at the last traces of ash to distract himself, "Was up in Atlanta. Had ta deal with a coven."

"Coven of vampires?" Rick checked his colt python before tucking it back into it's holster. Daryl could see Shane's hand twitching as he tried to keep it still.

"Man, just think this through," Shane leaned down beside Rick, pulling the sheriff deputy's attention from Daryl, "We don't even know him. He comes in here all loaded up with weapons stripped to him like a killer. For all we know he's gonna turn on us for knowin' about him the moment we turn our backs."

Shane didn't seem to think Daryl could hear him but the hunter had always had a good sense of hearing and some skill in deciphering sounds. Years of being terrified of vampires and your daddy would do that to you.

"Shane, we don't know anythin' about this world we're in now."

"Hell, I'll see you two assholes around. Try not ta get yerselves killed playin' action man," Daryl turned to go. He had to get to Beth's apartment and make sure she was safe, make sure she wasn't upset. He hadn't meant to take off like that but after that lone feral had attacked him he had to track it down to it's coven.

"What about Irma?" he heard Rick ask, and Daryl halfway back to face them at an angle.

"Ain't like she was a person no more," Daryl shrugged. He knew Dale would be distraught when Irma never came home. Knew that the man had probably known about it and wanted her to live, but being like that wasn't living, it was being a soulless monster.

"Dale will be distraught. He deserves to know what happened to his wife. You should come with us," Rick held a pleading hand out towards Daryl, a gesture to pacify the way Daryl's lips were set in a hard line.

"Why don't you go tell him yerself since ya so high an' mighty," Daryl spat the words, "I'm better alone."

"No one is forcing you to be alone. You're off the hook," Rick was all but pleading with Daryl, "We can help each other."

"Nawh," Daryl muttered, taking off between the graves and into the darkness. When he glanced back, he saw the two officers shoveling dirt into the grave as quickly as they could, desperate to clean up before sunrise. Daryl didn't care; he'd heard the shot, seen Irma crawl off a house roof from a few streets away, and put two and two together fast enough to save their lives. He didn't owe them anything.

* * *

Rick had been worried when Dale didn't immediately answer to Shane's loud whaling knocks on the door but at the sight of the front window's curtains twitching Rick reached out to stop Shane's banging, awaiting the man's arrival. He wasn't dead - not fully, anyway. Rick could feel the stake they'd clumsily fashioned tucked into the back of his pants, a constant reminder of what he might have to do to Dale.

Why else would the man be awake in the middle of the night if not because he preferred it? Shane thought that vampires couldn't walk in the sun, but Rick had interpreted the sunlight as just a weakness. Those old books were contradictory and all over the place.

Dale opened the door slowly, still fully dressed, his eyes wide and the hand on the edge of the floor wracked with tremors, "Deputy Grimes, Walsh, what can I do for you at such a ridiculous hour?"

"Where's your wife right now, Mr. Horvath?" Shane was right to the point - dismissing courtesy in favor of establishing if there was any danger.

"I- she's in bed," Dale lowered his eyes to his watch and then to the horizon behind the officers. The sky was beginning to lighten, it then being a deep purple that was rapidly becoming lilac.

"Shane," Rick warned his brother, "He isn't."

"I know, but I bet you he's goddamn waitin' with a snack for 'er," Shane curled back his lips, words coming out in a low growl, "That right, Mr. Horvath, you know your wife was a bloodsucker?"

"Was?" Dale's eyes widened. He got the point, before he stepped back from the doorway, "I can't lose her."

Rick could see the sudden desperation in the man's eyes and that Irma was more than murderous creature to Dale. Rick knew that Shane felt guilt at the man's expression, because he stepped back and flashed Rick a begging look that just about screamed _help, this is your territory_.

"Dale," Rick reached a gentle hand out, catching the man's shoulder, "She wasn't herself. She attacked me, would have killed myself and my partner if she wasn't stopped. No one is blaming you."

Rick wouldn't destroy the one job that Daryl had going for himself in this town by telling Dale that he'd been the one to end his wife's existence.

"I needed to save her. The man said she'd be able to control herself and she wouldn't die from her tumor," Dale was distraught, his widened eyes not moving from the ground where they stared. Rick could see tears threatening to spill, "She wasn't herself anymore. No one can stop time, not even immortal people. I'm so sorry, officers..."

"That's okay, Dale, you just don't tell anyone about this. If you know anything else about supernaturals, you let us know, just us two deputies," Shane turned to go, giving Rick a nod that Rick by now knew meant he'd wait in the car and give Rick a moment now that it seemed safe, "Do you want me to come in?"

"No, no," Dale waved a hand in the air, and met Rick's eyes with his broken ones, "This is my fault. I was so desperate to avoid the inevitability of death that when that man offered it to us..."

"What was his name?"

"Samael. That's all he said," Dale's hand was itching at the door, "Is that all, officer?"

"Anything else, Dale, you let us know, ok?"

Dale nodded, but halfway through closing the door jolted it open again, "Was there anything of herself left, or was she... a monster?"

"She was gone," Rick leaned his head just slightly forward to meet Dale's eyes, and Dale creased his brows before slamming the blue door in Rick's face. In the small window, the glare of the coming sunrise shone back at Rick, which he stared at before backing down the porch and slipping into the squad car.

"You wanna head back to the station to shower 'n shit, man?" Shane ran a hand down his face, meeting Rick's eyes with his worn down ones, and Rick shook his head.

"Fuck protocol. Dawn has us out hunting down nightmares, we can go home in our damn uniform," Rick started the engine, excited to take his family home when they got up in a few hours. Excited to crawl into bed with Lori and tell her they could go home.

* * *

It was early morning, the sun slowly climbing the blue sky, as Shane reached up and pulled the blinds closed. They'd been too preoccupied to think about it before but now, in the aftermath, they wanted the darkness. He rolled back onto the bed, his hand resting on Andrea's bare chest.

"What inspired your booty call at seven in the morning?" Andrea was smiling. She knew he'd been working from the uniform he'd arrived in, and he knew damn well she wasn't in work today because she'd asked him to go out the night before, "Your back is fucked up."

"S' jus' bruising," The bruises were lighter than what they'd been just hours earlier, "I was workin' late with Rick. You know that."

"I had girls night with Michonne," Andrea trailed a hand down his stomach, _lower,_ and Shane groaned in his throat before moving on top of her, doing nothing more than caress her cheek, "I missed you."

"Girl, we call each other enough fer a good fuck that anyone'd think it was somethin' more," Andrea's eyes widened and she pursed her lips and looked away. Shane felt the embarrassment he didn't often feel with a woman - rejection - in his cheeks and he set his eyes on the bedside table. Something there was wrapped in fancy blue cloth, delicately bound in golden string. He moved off of Andrea, grabbing the new item, and turning the velvet over in his hands. Something inside slid back and forth - cards.

"What's this?"

"Tarot cards," Andrea sat up beside him, golden curls falling around her face and shoulders, and undid the cloth, revealing the cards with their dark pattern on the back, "I kinda believe in it all."

Shane swallowed because she had no idea how much was real. Ran a hand through his curled hair as he lay down looking up at Andrea's sitting form. God, she was beautiful, even from down here, "Yeah, g'on, see if you can't surprise me, girl."

Andrea shuffled the deck and laid out three cards in a row between them on the bed, "This is a standard past, present and future, that's all, that's why you didn't need to think of a question."

"Alrigh'," Shane was curious about whether this stuff really was a hoax. After all, everything else was real.

The first card she turned over held a dark hooded figure on a white horse, holding a scythe high. Shane let out a short laugh, "Am I gonna die, that right?"

"Death usually represents change, so something in the past that has brought about an end and a new beginning," Andrea turned over the middle card - a person sat upright in their bed, swords on the wall behind them, "The nine of swords. It's not a great card. Something is keeping you up at night, maybe that's why you keep coming running to me."

"Girl, don't forget that you call me," Shane shifted to sit up, one hand clasping the back of his head as he watched her overturn the last card. It was all just _too_ close for comfort.

"Sometimes. But you always come when I do," the last card was the Devil, red and evil on his black throne. Shane rubbed at his neck.

"The Devil an' Death, huh, girl you sure know how to make me feel like I'm a dyin' sinner," He could barely get out the words, a breed of fear he hadn't felt in a long time clawing at his insides. Andrea ran her fingertips over the scar on his shoulder. He pulled back, gesturing to the cards.

"It's something taboo, rejected or wild, inside of you. I think something changed, it's massively bothering you, and either it's going to drag you down or you'll embrace it. The future is just a possibility. We can clarify some of these-"

"Nah," He snapped, a little too harshly, and rubbed at his forehead, "S'all bullshit. Some cards can't tell me what my life's about."

"That depends on you. I'd bet you started somethin' awhile back," Andrea pulled another card out anyways, putting it next to Death. The card said Strength at the bottom, "So the change made you stronger, more primal, but you can't accept that, and-"

"Stop," Shane grabbed some of the cards, shoving them back towards the hand that held the deck, "I don't believe in that fortune tellin' stuff, jus' that you're the most beautiful damn woman I ever had the pleasure of bein' with."

"That's just one of your lines to get with a girl," Andrea smirked, "You're avoiding the topic."

"Or I just can't help myself, lookin' at you like this," he moved closer to her face, less than inch from her lips, "You ain't gotta do anythin' with me that you don't wanna-"

"Oh, I wanna," Andrea grinned against his lips, "Show me this wildness,"

"My pleasure, baby," Shane leaned forward, and Andrea barely managed to shove the open pack of cards back onto the bedside table before they were moving on the bed, taking advantage of the silence of the empty house.

* * *

Daryl waited outside on his bike, smoking at the corner of the street until he knew she'd be awake. He had a key, and some woman peering at him, but he didn't want to wake Beth. Even if that suburbian mom was probably close to calling the police, running back to stare at him between looking after the three kids that he could sometimes see. Not that he meant to look; the woman just made it so damn hard with her curtain twitching.

When he saw her open her curtains, like she did every day when she woke up, and see him at the corner of the road, Daryl moved from the bike he'd been leaning against and sped up to the white door, making it there as Beth swung it open so hard it bounced off the wall, and she wrapped her arms around him. She should have been horrified; he hadn't showered in two days, his clothes were covered in a coven's worth of ash and dried black blood and his weapons weren't all completely concealed under his vest, glints of silver catching the sun.

"You're okay," Beth pulled him through the doorway, closing it and slipping on the latch before rising up on her tiptoes. Daryl smiled and lightly kissed her - just for a second. He needed to go shower; he shouldn't be touching someone as amazing as Beth in his state.

"There was an emergency," Daryl mumbled, "I ain't done drugs or nothin', I jus' - there's somethin' I gotta tell you, Beth."

Daryl knew the rules; normies didn't know. His mother hadn't. Normies became bargaining tools if they knew, but Daryl hated the idea of Beth not being safe. He wanted to protect her all hours of the day but he couldn't. The vampire lurking around King County had been part of a larger coven and if left unchecked could have made a branch out here. He didn't need vampires running around King County, putting Beth and her family in danger.

"Is it somethin' bad, like that you hate me or you killed someone or somethin'?" Beth was frowning. Daryl couldn't help but laugh as he shook his head. Of course this girl would put not loving her in the same bracket as killing someone. She thought he was worth a damn.

"Nawh, ain't no one that could hate you. How 'bout I tell you when we got some time this weekend?" Daryl ran a grubby hand over her cheek, "I gotta use your shower if that's alrigh', girl."

"Go ahead," Beth smiled, walked with Daryl because he spent enough time here now that he knew where it was, "You don't gotta tell me anythin' you ain't ready to. Someday, 'cause we can't keep secrets, but I know you got a lot you won't tell me."

She'd seen the scars all over him, from belt buckles and from blades, claws, and fangs, and she'd never questioned it. Just like how he'd seen the scar on her wrist and he'd never questioned it. They both knew but they weren't ready.

Daryl checked the crosses around the house and the locks on the door and Beth put the kettle on. She didn't know he did this to keep out the undead but she knew he did it to protect her. Fuck, a Dixon didn't deserve a girl like Beth Greene but he sure as hell tried his damn hardest to be worth the time she was wasting in his sorry ass.

"Is Merle back?" Daryl had meant to go home Friday, but he'd turned up to Merle in his cabin and had bailed back into town - ending up in him running into that vampire. Calling Merle brought no results; the man had already fucked off to do what he always did. Merle had forgotten the point of hunting a long time ago.

"I think he left town again. He was on Friday," Daryl grunted, shrugging off his vest and weapons and leaving them on the back of the kitchen counter chair. Beth had seen it all before, and she didn't ask questions after the first time. She was content to know that he wasn't a criminal.

Anymore.

"I was real scared. I spoke ta Deputy Grimes," Beth fiddled with her bracelet and didn't meet his eyes.

"I spoke to 'im. He know about..."

"I think so. He won't say anything," Beth carried the mug of black coffee and cup of green tea to the table, shaking her head at Daryl when he went to grab them, and put the mug down before sitting down with her green tea. The chipped yellow cup suited her, "We can't jus' keep secrets forever, not from Merle or my daddy. Maggie can read me like a book; she knows somethin' is different."

They'd been sneaking around, sharing careful kisses in the dark, for four months now. After Merle had started leaving and not coming back, and after she'd sung a set at his usual shitty bar out in the middle of nowhere off of the highway. Girl coulda gotten hurt if he hadn't given her a ride.

"I gotta get that shower," Daryl shrugged. He didn't wanna hear her tell him how her daddy would accept what a good man he was; Daryl couldn't get the image of Hershel Greene chasing him with a shotgun out of his mind once he thought about it once.

"I made you a coffee," Beth gave him that wide, radiant smile, and Daryl slipped into the chair and hunched over his coffee without any refusal. The girl could convince the sun to rise in the west with a smile like that.

"Thanks," The drink was still hot and it burnt his tongue and left a rough, raw feeling behind, "M'sorry about Merle. Paul, Eric an' Aaron won' work with him 'cause a' what an ass he is an' all his junkie friends can't do our job - so he crawls his ass back here when he needs a hand."

"You mean they won't work with him 'cause he's a homophobe."

"Mhm," Daryl tilted the coffee in his mug. Beth hadn't met Eric and Aaron but Daryl had told her all about them. What Daryl couldn't tell her was that they were considering retirement from the hunting profession to adopt a baby girl called Gracie. But he could tell her that they were good people looking to start a family, "Yeah, I forget that ya met 'im."

Merle had worked on the Greene farm during harvest for a whole week before Hershel had fired him and Daryl sure didn't blame the old man.

There was a buzz in Daryl's pocket and he slipped out the little flip phone to see the text . An unsaved number, but Daryl knew it well - ' _We need 2 talk_ '.

Daryl text back a lone ' _?_ ', sending Beth an apologetic look, "'s important."

' _sheriff brght back the lynchmob cops._ _u remember bein told abt them?_ '

' _Yh. grimes and walsh. they r huntin everything._ ' Daryl fumbled with the little keys, having to press each one over and over again, and wondered if Beth was right about him getting a new phone. Those were expensive though, and hunting vampires didn't pay much - he had to rely on what belongings he could pawn off. Irma's ring burnt holes in his pocket. He had to give that to Dale soon.

' _do u think they will cm after u_ s?'

' _no. use a charm. im busy_.' Daryl shoved his phone away. Michonne could wait; Daryl just wanted to spend time with Beth.

* * *

 **A/N : Thank you for being patient with this chapter! Definitely not as much action, but I didn't want to make it TOO long, and I needed to include these scenes o_o. I hope you guys enjoyed this, and thank you so much for reading! : D**

 **What was Shane's tarot about? Why was Michonne texting Daryl about Rick and Shane's new occupation? What are they hiding? o_o**

 **Do you guys love/hate the Bethyl + Shandrea vibes? (Richonne will 100% be at least minorly a thing but Rick had a wife rn, so...)**


	4. Chapter 4

_Saturday, August 18th, 8 days until the full moon_

Rick fumbled for his knife in the wet mud. A terrible ache throbbed through the adrenaline as blood leaked from his side. He needed to find Shane but shouting would draw it closer to him. He grasped at the metal and stumbled to his feet, chest heaving, accidentally slicing his fingers on the knife.

It had stuck its claws in Shane's stomach and ripped to the side - Rick remembered being knocked aside so that it could grab Shane's body. His head was still bleeding from the impact with the tree. Rick saw something dart in the darkness, silently, and swore, took off running again. His lungs _burned_.

Somewhere up here was the cabin they'd rented. It had protection symbols carved around it. He just had to get inside.

The leaves rustled overhead. Something scraped on wood. Rick forced his exhausted limbs to go faster but they couldn't. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears and drowned out everything but the echo of his heavy breaths. The light of the waxing moon caught a glass pane up ahead. Everything burned as Rick forced himself forward - he couldn't die. Lori, Carl, his baby, they needed him. He had to make it.

A single glance back showed him the horrible, leathery creature, bent into a low spidery crouch, watching him with sharp teeth bared. Blood dripping from its teeth. It let out a quiet snarl and moved in a blur, up to the tree. Coming after him.

Rick's legs began to slow against his will. He'd run too far. No, no. His limbs ached, his lungs couldn't draw in enough breath, the scenery around him slowed as he tried to keep going, couldn't. The cabin was _right there_. Rick forced his body forward on staggering legs. Felt the way the pain in his side and his head stabbed at him with each step. The sounds of the creature's scuttles came louder than his ragged breaths. Right behind him.

Rick took one last lunge as he heard an ear-splitting screech. His palms collided with the glass door as he yanked at it, ripping it open. Rick launched himself inside and shut the door with a squeak and then a hard slam. Collapsed to the floor as the creature slammed into the glass. It slunk down to a crouch, one bony limb tapping its claws on the door. It knew it couldn't get in here. Its face was dry, leathery grey skin stretched and yet somehow gaunt over the human-like skull. Somehow that face held an expression of fury.

A horrible nails-on-chalkboard noise screamed through the little cabin as it gouged its long nails into the glass, testing it, before scuttering away. Rick could see it, even in the dark, scurrying back and forth just away from the cabin. Waiting for him.

* * *

It'd been two weeks since the first weekend Daryl avoided taking Beth out hunting with him and he's had an excuse every weekend. It wasn't that Beth was desperate to murder small creatures; she just wanted to do something with Daryl that he loved. She didn't mind if he'd prefer the alone time of hunting either, but he kept saying that they would and backing out. Beth couldn't help but think that he saw her as useless.

So Beth was sat alone on her couch, strumming at her guitar and trying to get that anger out into a song, when the knock came at the door. It was late, 9 o'clock, and the only person it could be was Daryl, but he'd gone on a last minute trip that he wouldn't tell her about.

Maggie and Glenn were on the farm with daddy, planning the wedding, which made Beth even more confused. No one in town would be visiting her on a Saturday night.

She was cautious to open the door only enough to peer her head around. A man with buzzcut hair and a leather vest stood, hand-rolled cigarette hanging from his grinning lips. The smell of it's smoke choked her and Beth scrunched up her nose.

"Hi, sweetcheeks, my brother here?"

"What?" Beth hadn't seen any photos of him but she knew this had to be Merle. He leered at her, "Your brother?"

"I know baby Darylina has been stayin' aroun' here, I got it outta ol' Sasha after a minute. He here?"

"No," Beth pressed the door a little further closed but Merle stuck a muddy-booted foot out and trapped it.

"Don't smell like he's here," Merle's lips stretched back and he took his smoke from his lips before blowing it into her face, "Where's he gone?"

"Last minute trip," Beth knew that she could get the pepper spray from her bag hanging on the back of the door, but she wasn't sure exactly where it was and it would take her too long. She slipped a hand inside her bag, feeling around as gently as she could, and only then realized how _weird_ that was, "Smell?"

"Don't smell of smoke or cowards - nawh, my baby brother's too good fer you. I could show ya a real man, girlie," Merle stubbed the smoke out on the doorframe, ash getting on the doormat and her hardwood floor, "Where's this trip of his?"

"I don't know," Beth could feel tampons, random bits of paper, pens, but not her pepper spray. She wasn't completely terrified of Merle - but Daryl had left life with his brother behind for a reason, "You better go."

"I think I deserve somethin' for my investigation skills, sweetcheeks, how'bout you jus' open that door some more?"

"Fuck off," his boot still blocked the door from closing. He used his tongue to pick food from between his teeth, "I mean it. I'll call the cops."

"Sure you will," Merle laughed, put one hand on the doorframe and the other on the door, and leaned down so close that Beth could smell the rot on his breath. Merle smelt like shit and wet dog, like he'd spent his night on the floor of a whorehouse. He was strong enough to push open the door by force if he wanted, "Sexy thing like you is wasted on my brother. How old're ya, jailbait?"

"I'm twenty-two," Beth said before she thought about it. She'd defended the age difference between her and Daryl in her mind enough that she didn't even think about what Merle would do with that information. What he might have already done to Sasha to get their relationship out of her. Beth needed to call her, assuming Merle didn't do anything to her, "I think we're done here."

"I don' think so, but I got some guys ta talk to. 'Til next time, sweetcheeks," Merle bared his teeth as he stepped back, and that was the last Beth saw before she slammed the door and deadbolted it. Grabbed her phone, found her pepper spray, and kept the TV volume on low so that she could hear any noises outside. Called Sasha first, and then Abe when Sasha didn't answer and heard that Merle had threatened her down at the bar while Abraham was checking stock. Called Daryl second and it went to voicemail. Called him again, the same. A heavy feeling settled in Beth's gut as she kept trying - why was Merle looking for Daryl? Was he already in trouble?

* * *

Rick was ready at the door of the cabin as the noise of the engine approached. The creature had disappeared from it's watching post outside of the glass door at the back of the cabin at the first sound of it. A number Rick didn't know had called him twenty minutes ago about waiting at the door to let _them_ in immediately. Rick didn't recognize the female voice but he knew it was Daryl, from the harsh wind against the phone from being on his bike and the things they knew.

When the motorcycle roared to a stop right outside the door Rick swung it open, silver knife ready. The bike fell to the ground with a crash as Daryl followed a woman with dreads, crossbow raised. The creature moved faster than the eye could register across the lawn, almost making it, but crawled back slowly as Daryl and the woman shoved past Rick and into the cabin. Daryl shoved the door that Rick was still holding shut, sliding the deadbolt across and locking it with the key in the lock.

"Ya weren't fuckin kiddin', bastard's hangin' aroun' outside alrigh'," Daryl stalked over to the glass sliding doors, checking them, briefly tapping over where the gouges in the glass were.

"I'm Michonne," the dark-skinned woman said, holding a hand out to the flustered Deputy. Rick took it, taking in the sword across her back, the charms threaded into her braids and the smudged lines of black paint up her arms, "Friend of Daryl's."

"She knows 'bout all this, can help better'n I can," Daryl put his crossbow and the small pack he was carrying down, rummaging through it, "Ya hurt?"

"Rick Grimes," he said to the woman. He couldn't help but be terrified of the powerful glare she was giving him, "It got me a little, nothin' like how it got Shane."

"Ya said it dragged 'im from what ya saw - musta took it to the lair. Prob'ly dead."

"Wendigos usually eat their prey bit by bit while keeping them trapped and alive. That keeps the meat fresher for longer," Michonne gestured to Rick, who after that felt like he might be sick, "Your friend might not be dead yet. Sit down."

Rick obliged, perching on the end of the bed. Daryl had driven all the way out here right after Rick had called and Michonne came with him; they had to be good enough to trust. Even if they weren't, Rick was trapped in this cabin and he needed them.

They'd been stupid. Dawn had told them that going after things outside of King County was above and beyond what they had to do so they'd done it outside of work. Thought they could kill the thing. They hadn't expected how fast and quiet it was, though. Now Shane was some thing's meal.

"These are just surface lacerations," Michonne was prodding at his side, where the Wendigo had clawed him, "Infection could be an issue but we can fix that if it happens. We need to patch this up."

Rick nodded, tried to keep his eyes away from the cleavage that her cloth cloak didn't hide, "Shane-"

"He has until sunrise. Maybe one after that."

"Then we have to go-"

"No. You should know that it only hunts at night. The best time to find and kill it is the daytime."

"Our lives ain't worth Officer Asswipe's. He's already dead," Daryl cracked open the tiny window between the two beds and lit a smoke, leaning against the wall, "What'cha know, 'chonne? Ain't used to nothin' outside'a vamps, 'cept that Chupacabra I saw."

"This is why you shouldn't be playing with being hunters. Most of them specialize in a type, like Daryl, instead of being a jack of all trades," Michonne stood up to her full height, rubbing at the paint down her arms. Rick didn't know her, but he thought he recognized her from somewhere.

"Look, it's my job," Rick pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to qualm the desperation. He couldn't do this alone, that's why he'd called Daryl, "I won't leave a man to be eaten alive, 'least of all my _brother_."

Daryl met Rick's eyes and the men stared, pleading, before Daryl nodded to himself, "Alrigh'. 'Chonne, you good ta use yer fire?"

The woman sent Daryl a dirty look from where she stood, the three of them making a triangle in the room. Rick couldn't see anything fire producing on the woman and he hoped that it was a trick with a lighter and oil. Could he consciously let something not human just walk aroun even if they helped him? The two seemed to have a conversation just by looking at one another. Rick could smell the burning tobacco and in any other situation might have yelled but Daryl couldn't go aside. Probably needed it after the long drive to north Georgia.

"It's nearly midnight. It'll be dangerous to hunt it now," Michonne strode to the glass sliding doors, staring out into the darkness. Rick had kept the lights off in the cabin so that he could see outside better and that was the only reason he caught a glimpse of the shadow on the window behind Daryl.

"Move," he lurched up and reached for the hunter as he yelled. Daryl jerked forward just in time to avoid the blackening clawed fingers that ripped under the cracked open window. There was a horrible screech as the fingers ripped themselves back from the window.

"It's strong enough to try the barrier. Not strong enough to not be hurt by it," Michonne said, still staring from the glass doors. Daryl shoved the rest of his smoke through the window and slammed it closed, "We should wait until morning. Your friend is already dead."

"I didn't call Daryl to sit around while Shane is out there," Rick moved to the middle of the little cabin and pulled his colt out, checking the rounds in the cylinder, "We convinced the sheriff to let us come up here instead of working so that we could help people. We thought we could take it on. I won't let my _brother_ die to a cannibalistic monster because he was trying to help people on the other side of the state."

"How'd ya find this thing?" Daryl dropped onto the bed closest to the window, _Shane's,_ and propped one knee up to his chest as he sat there. His other leg hung off the bed, just touching the ground, "Didn't ya think'a askin' for some damn help?"

"You walked away at the cemetery. We told Dale," Rick holstered his gun, ignoring the twinge of pain in his side, "I would appreciate some help next time - learning about creatures."

"Dixon family's been jus' vampire hunters fer generations. I ain't no Hunter."

"Then why did you come to help now?"

"Ain't gon' jus' watch a decent guy die. If we need help I'll call some people from Virginia. Might take 'em awhile ta get down 'ere but they'd be happy ta help," Daryl tucked his chin to his chest, "Ya wanna get ready ta hunt this asshole or what? 'Chonne, ya wanna let 'im in on how ta kill it?"

"Silver damages it but the only way to really hurt and kill a wendigo is fire. That was your first mistake. The second was hunting at night - they hunt through sound and movement. That's all they can see. Going out at night gives it the advantage."

"We can't wait until morning. If there's a chance that Shane isn't dead yet then I'm going out there." The truth was, Rick couldn't live with himself. He was the one who'd convinced Shane that leaving King County to hunt over Georgia was a good idea. All of the scouring through books over the last month, all of the training with the old weapons, and it had gone to shit anyway.

"Then we go," Michonne tapped on the glass door and in the trees, Rick saw a faint blur. It had been watching them, "You ready to run once we open this door?"

Rick checked over his weapons; his colt, silver bullets; silver knife on his belt; can of lighter fluid tucked inside of his jacket. They thought they only had to burn the body after they took it down with silver. They'd been in over their heads this entire time.

Rick didn't know why they'd accepted this anymore. Other than the lack of choice, once Dawn had told them that the supernatural was real, he thought they'd seen it as a joke - or a mission to help more people in a new way, for Shane. He'd always loved being on the force because he could stop lives that he otherwise couldn't do anything for. Shane was always the first one there for assault cases or car crashes were they to happen on his shift.

Now Rick had to save his life. He joined Michonne by the door, reluctantly joined by Daryl moments later, and Rick passed the key to Michonne. The twist of the lock echoed around the room and Rick got ready to run.

* * *

 **A/N : Pretty quickly written chapter for y'all, I was just having a lot of motivation and I won't be able to write more until Sunday so I thought it'd be fun to put up. I know there's a lot of confusing unanswered questions rn oops.**

 **Thank you guys for reading! It means the world.**

 **Does anyone have any theories about Michonne and Daryl, or Shane's dedness?**


	5. Chapter 5

_Saturday, August 18_ _th_ _, 18 days until the full moon_

Shane awoke to a horrible pain in his gut. His head throbbed, felt heavy, he realized, from hanging upside down. A sharp pressure around his ankles held him up and he slowly swayed in the darkness, his head hanging down. Blood trickled, slowly, over his jaw and then into his lips and he spat it out. Under the metal smell of blood, he smelt something sour and dead, just like how the White Woman's corpse had smelt before they burnt it, but stronger now.

Something was hanging in front of him. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and he saw the corpse that hung there. Its's bones showed through where the flesh had been bitten and torn away, it's ribcage and skull on full display. The empty eye sockets grinned at Shane. Blood had dried into lines running down from those eye sockets where the eyes and brain had been clawed out and eaten.

 _Oh fuck_. He wasn't going to die like that, eaten alive by the creepy fucker that had taken him down. He hadn't seen it, or it's claws, coming for them, and had gone for it with his knife in just enough time for it to go for him and not Rick. Shane took his eyes from the taunting skull and instead brought his left arm up, saw that the little glowing numbers on his watch ready 23:43. How long had he been hanging here, nearly three hours? He knew that at dawn it would retire to home and come to eat whatever prey it had caught through the night - he had five or six hours.

He could see other ropes and cables, hanging in tied hoops - it looked like metal spikes that climbers used had been used to stick them into the ceiling. He could get one of those out of the ceiling.

Shane pulled his body up to reach his legs - but his gut writhed with pain and he dropped, swore.

When the pain had gone back to a burn he fumbled at the jacket that hung off his body, swinging his arms blindly behind himself and fumbling through the pockets. Then his belt. Nothing. Was this fucking thing smart enough to _disarm_ him?

His gaze fell back to the exposed skeleton of the dead. He couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, what from how long it had been here, rotting. The scalp had been mostly torn away, leaving only a few tufts of short hair on the skull, and it's clothes were reduced to the scraps of pants and a shirt around the devoured flesh.

"Sorry, man," Shane said before swinging his torso to build momentum. His stomach screamed in pain but he kept moving until his outstretched hands caught the bony neck of the body. The rotted flesh that was left squelched under his fingers.

Shane screwed up his face as he used the body to pull himself up and reach the ribcage. He braced himself, using his left hand to find purchase underneath the lower ribs - sticking his hands into something in the process - and used his other to snap a rib off. It fractured on the first tug, and then snapped away on the third yank. Shane examined the point. It seemed sharp enough.

He wrapped his palm around the bone and used the body to pull himself up. A sharp stab of pain through his stomach had him pausing, his breaths ragged and heaving. He tried to bend his knees and help pull himself up.

The body started to give way. He heard the clatter of bone, and a very wet sound, before where he clutched the hip began to separate from one of the legs. He lunged for his ankles and barely managed to clasp the tight rope there as the bones clattered to the ground. Shane let out low growls of pain as he reopened his closing wounds, warm blood running off his stomach.

It took only a short look in the direction of the hanging leg, all that was left in the rope, to help him fight through.

Shane used the shard of rib to saw at the rope. It was old, probably decades old, and gave way quickly. He kept sawing at it, letting out deep gasps of pain as he did, begging the rope to thin faster.

His arm ached as the strands of rope left where he was cutting grew thinner, the thin stretch struggling under his weight, and broke with a loud snap - Shane hit the ground hard, head first, pain jolting through him. He banged the side of his fist against the floor, trying to contain his yells.

His hands searched the floor and found his dropped piece of bone. None of his weapons, though. In the darkness, he could only make out colourless shapes. He was down, though, and now he just needed to get out.

The sound of claws scattering along stone. Shane looked towards the small crawlspace that seemed like the entrance. A stretched out, white face appeared, and what looked like a black tattoo stretched down its left limb.

Shane held his breath. Tried to stay still where he was hunched on the ground on his hands and knees.

The creature cocked it's head from one side and then to the other. _Listening._ They couldn't see too well - probably worse than Shane could now - so it was listening for him, watching for his movement.

He knew that. Why had they gone bounding through those woods?

The creature drew back, seemed satisfied - hadn't it put him here, why wasn't it looking? It perched inside the crawlspace, thinking it wasn't seen, and opened it's mouth to reveal a full mouth of dagger-like teeth.

"Shane!" that was Rick's voice - and Shane nearly started, except the creature's voice moved with the words, "Shane! Move!"

It sounded just like Rick. It was mimicking what they'd said when they were first attacked. Shane struggled to stop his limbs shaking. His heartbeat was loud in his ears. He very slowly exhaled because the pressure in his lungs was too much. Inhaled. The creature paused and looked _right at him_.

It spoke again, this time in Shane's own voice, "Man, run! Oh, shi-it, it's comin', Rick, go!" It paused, let out a clicking noise, and this time said words that Shane _hadn't_ said, "Man, I need help, over here, man I'm bleedin' out!"

It scuttered out of the crawlspace and into the room. Seemed to go straight to where the older corpse had been, inches away from Shane. His lungs burned but he didn't breathe. He could smell the unwashed, rotten smell of the creature, could see the wrinkled leathery grey skin, and the distorted black tattoos running down its arm and back. It clawed at the air with its tattooed arm before poking the heap of bone and flesh on the ground. It hissed and turned around.

Shane didn't make eye contact. Couldn't they see you if you made eye contact? Shit, he should have listened to Rick more. Shane very, very slowly edged toward his wrist and took off his watch, dropping it to the ground when he was sure it was looking up and not at him. The light would give him away.

"Shane?" it mimicked in Rick's voice, to the space where Shane should have been hanging. It was easy to forget this creature had been human before it ate human flesh, but it was undeniably smart. It differentiated between the two of them, knew who was who, just from watching them talk before attacking.

"Shane, you there?"

It was looking above him and drew itself up from its spider-like pose to stand on two legs, sniffing at the air where Shane should have been. It started to crouch over where Shane was.

Without thinking, he lunged up, drove the shard of rib into the Wendigo's chest. It screeched and he dove for the crawlspace. Shane got himself into it, dragged his wounds along the rock. Pain ripped through his ankle as the thing lunged in to grab him.

The crawlspace went up behind him - but he felt to his right, a space in the rock and saw another way to crawl. The way up was complicated, full of twists he'd have to stretch around and could be dragged back through. Surely he'd been brought in another way.

Shane kicked out to get the thing off his leg and swung his legs into the second gap. His scramble turned into a fall as the crawlspace opened onto a large rock room - from the ceiling.

He landed on his feet. His already-clawed ankle gave way as he landed and rolled. The darkness was worse here as his eyes struggled to adjust. The head of the creature appeared from the crawlspace in the ceiling. It seemed to watch before making clacking noises and withdrawing back into the tunnel.

Shane couldn't see a way out of here. He put his hands against his still-bleeding stomach, and as he struggled to sit up, was overtaken by dizziness. He'd lost too much blood. He couldn't stand. Consciousness was slipping from him as the adrenaline faded. Shane tried to lurch to his feet the last time but collapsed back to the ground in tormenting agony from his stomach and leg.

* * *

As they stepped from the door, the cool night breeze buffeted around them. Rick clutched his silver blade. Michonne had pulled her katana free; a silver blade with red symbols carved into it. Rick would have asked about it if they didn't need to be quiet. Silent. That was what the woods here were. Rick and Shane had noticed that in the day, before sunset had led to what it had.

They walked through the skinny trees, the darkness reminding Rick of the game Carl had once showed him - Slenderman. Rick hoped that that wasn't real, too.

Daryl, as always, held his crossbow, but now seemed to have it loaded with a special kind of silver stake.

' _It withdrew into the woods. It may be after Shane.'_

Rick started at the voice in his mind. Daryl cut Michonne a questioning look, before Rick heard another voice, deeper.

' _'S a mind-link. Smarter to use than our voices.'_

' _Just think at_ _us.'_ It seemed like Michonne. The voices were nothing like their actual ones and yet similar - he realised that this was how they sounded when they thought. Somewhat insecure, and unsure of how to deal with the fact that it seemed like Michonne was not human, Rick struggled to force his own thought forward, imagining sending it towards the pair.

' _This only gets weirder, right? We need to find the lair it dragged him to.'_

 _'You said it chased you to the cabin after dragging him a little way. We can track it if it dragged him, but if it carried him we won't be able to. Daryl?'_ Michonne gestured forward and the hunter took point. Rick found his hands shaking with fear for his brother. He had Michonne and Daryl but Shane was alone out there, maybe being devoured right now.

They went on walking in their triangle, Daryl up front and Michonne and Rick frequently checking behind, until Daryl pulled out a flashlight and Michonne abruptly stopped. She gave him a hard look, but Daryl thought ' _Can't see shit of this damn trail otherwise, yeah I know it's fuckin' attracted to light so don't look at me like that, 'Chonne.'_

 _'_

 _How do you two know all of this? Know each other?'_ What Rick really meant was who the fuck Michonne was, because he knew Daryl had known about all of this for a long time. If she was, what, some sort of magic user? How did he justify not keeping tabs on her, even if she did seem to be good?

' _I hired Daryl to source vampire dust and repaid him the favor when he needed it.'_

 _'What are you?'_

Michonne narrowed her eyes at Rick's question and looked to Daryl. She seemed reluctant to share anything with Rick, like she had this entire time, and Rick briefly wondered if she would swing her katana at him, ' _How seriously do you take your new job?'  
_

That was when Rick heard it. "Rick, fuck - Rick where are you, man?" Shane was screaming, somewhere off to the right. Daryl and Michonne both turned to Rick, their faces dropped, and they both tried to say something, hands reaching to stop Rick, but he was already moving, and yelled, "Come on, we have to help him!"

Rick sprinted on impulse. Registered a thought pushing into his head but was too far already. They weren't keeping pace with him. He should have stopped, gotten them, but Shane was out here somewhere, bleeding to death.

"Fuck, man, help!" Shane was yelling now. Rick pulled out his colt as he drew closer to the yelling. But as it grew louder, Rick still couldn't see anything, before the noises stopped. He heard a twig snap behind him and stopped, turned to ask Daryl and Michonne - and was face-to-face with a leathery grey face. It had milky grey eyes, as though it were blind.

Rick stumbled back and raised his gun, fired - but the thing was faster. It lunged around the shot and slammed his head against a tree. Pain sparked through his skull. It's fingers were long and dirty and reached all the way around, the clawed ends pressing into his forehead. Rick managed to fire again, right into it's stomach and it dropped back into it's crouch and scuttered back, up into the closest tree. Rick kept his gun held up, and watched as the thing dug its claws inside the wound for the bullet.

"Shane, where are you?" he yelled. If it had just killed Shane… the silence pointed to it. Rick shook in fear.

Rick realized that the thing wasn't dirty but had markings, tattoos, going down it's right side. The one at the glass doors of the cabin hadn't been. Rick aimed again and fired, this time hitting the preoccupied Wendigo in the chest. It seemed stupider, younger, than the other.

Rick thundered through the woods in the direction he came from, after Daryl and Michonne. There were _two_. He had to warn them. What if they hadn't followed because of the second Wendigo?

He didn't get far. He could see, through the trees, a red glow illuminating Daryl and Michonne as they stood back to back. The light was beaming from the carvings in her sword, and it illuminated another Wendigo, perched in a tree and staring down on them. Something landed on Rick from behind and knocked him down, stinking of death and unwashed human, and let out a quiet hiss in his ear as it clasped it's hand over his jaw. Rick couldn't breathe through the horrible palm that held his his jaw shut and covered his nose.

Rick let out a muffled cry, tried to think at Michonne and Daryl, ' _Help',_ but they were too far he guessed, because he started to lose consciousness. He could see them struggling with the other Wendigo. They had no idea that he was right here.

Rick kicked at the ground and fumbled in the dirt but couldn't find his gun. He couldn't die here - he had to get home to his son and his unborn baby. He had to get back to his family. His lungs burned and he convulsed, choking for breaths under the leathery palm. He couldn't die, not here, not -

* * *

 _Sunday, August 19th, 17 days until the full moon_

He woke up hanging. Rick couldn't see anything in the complete darkness, but he knew from the pressure in his head and the way he swung that he was upside down. He heard breathing, and whispered, "Shane? Michonne? Daryl?"

"They ain't here," Daryl said, "I can't see shit but I think it's out there huntin' 'em."

"There's two of them," Rick said, "I heard Shane but he went quiet..."

"They can mimic voices. Coulda told ya that if ya didn' go runnin' off half-cocked. Shane ain't here and it was mimickin' him, he's long dead. We gotta get us the fuck outta here," Rick heard the creak of rope and the swoosh of air as Daryl swung himself, "We got sunrise, if that. If they come back they'll eat us both."

Rick rubbed at his face, tried not to think about Shane being dead. That was on him. He heard a quiet bleep and froze.

"That yours?" a small light flashed from the ground, and Rick stared at the dirty, blood-covered screen before realizing that it was Shane's watch. It had just beeped for 1:00am.

"Shane's. I prefer analog watches," Rick could see blood on the floor in the faint light, before the watch powered off in standby mode while not on Shane's wrist, using that fancy heartrate monitor, "He was down here."

"Don't get ya hopes up. His corpse's pro'lly on the damn floor. You got ya weapons?" Rick squinted into the darkness, looking for Shane. He could smell blood, and rot, but he couldn't believe that it was Shane's blood.

Rick felt at hit waist. He'd dropped his colt in the woods, and his knife was nowhere to be found, "No. You?"

"Nawh. Sumbitch took 'em offa us. Ya said ya came out here coz of a new missin' person? I reckon that tattoed one is newer - shit at bein' a Wendigo but still smarter than the average one. Got some'a it's human brain left an' all. It's hidin' em somewhere."

"How do we get out of here?"

"Can ya reach the wall?" Rick heard Daryl swinging and he tried to do the same, reaching out with his arms and wiggling in an attempt to move. His head felt so heavy, his blood throbbing there, because of the way the blood was pooling in his head. Rick couldn't reach the wall, but he heard a scuffle as Daryl at least touched it.

"I reckon' I can try an' get outta this wire," Daryl called. Rick grimaced because he was pretty sure what was holding him was a rope, "See if ya can't pullup with those fuckin' cop muscles - I'll try an' get down usin' the wall an' let ya out."

Rick nodded, even though he knew he couldn't. He'd been training at the gym with Shane for years, and every time Shane swung his legs over a bar and did situps it astounded Rick - he knew Shane took pride in his appearance physically, but Rick couldn't bring himself to train that hard. He could do regular situps, but one from hanging had always seemed impossible to him. Maybe Shane _had_ gotten down by doing that - but Rick couldn't help but worry about how badly he'd been hurt. If he was dead on the floor, where Rick couldn't see... Rick couldn't worry about Shane now. He had to get out of here and back to his family.

* * *

 **A/N : Another quick update because I just love the creepiness of the Wendigo. If you're curious, inspiration for them is a mix of Until Dawn, Supernatural, and lore I've googled. There's a lot of conflicting information on them too, like madness and how they hunt and stuff, so if it's weird that the characters know more or less than each other, it depends on which bits of research they've done or heard that they believe. That goes for the future too, since obviously not all lore says the same stuff.**

 **I know not a lot happens... but I'm trying to do pretty frequent uploads. What did y'all think? And thank you so much for reading once again! Means the world to meeeeee. : ) 3**


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